


Absolutum

by jusrecht



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M, Master/Slave, Space!AU, blame the hair ruffle, this has plagued me since day 1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3541847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One is a merchandise, the other a buyer. Futuristic/Space/Master-Slave!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolutum

**Author's Note:**

> Because ChoKyu is a puppy waiting to be petted in every damn musical.

They did not call him the Black Diamond for nothing.

For the thirteenth time, he looked out of the glass cage at the centre of this circular stage. Draped across his lower back, a thin gossamer fabric posed for a semblance of decency, woven out of sparks and jewels that the blackness glittered in the mute half-light. A certain homage to his name. 

The slavery business is a cross between glamour and excellent management, at least in this sort of establishment. He watched in silence as the seats started to fill, people trickling in in twos or threes, their eyes darting toward the stage and the motionless display within the cage. All were garbed in their finer attires, from exquisite Seravinan silk to lavish Cordeconese furs. All stank of wealth.

And one of them would have claimed him by the end of the night.

He let his eyes drift shut. It mattered little to him now, for a slave was a slave and what he did never changed. In the span of three years, he had known no less than twelve masters. Short and tall. Big and small. Rough and gentle. Human and not. All subjected him to their wish. 

All dead within months of owning him. 

“Honoured guests, please take your seat. We shall begin momentarily.”

A disembodied male voice brought order to the chamber. The drone of conversations receded, settling into a faint hum that did not quite cross the threshold of noise. An expectant silence spread.

“The Black Diamond.”

It was his cue. He opened his eyes, and then tilted his head to one side, a slow, languid movement that seemed to arrest time and air both. His rise was measured, angles increasing by degrees, a delicate dance in slow motion. He could feel dozens pairs of eyes feasting on his naked skin, more and more exposed as he rose to all fours. Excitement rushed in his blood at the thought; a low moan trembled on his lips, startlingly loud in the dearth of any other sound.

The audience’s response was immediate. He could sense the increase in their heart rate. The sudden spike of tension in the room. The rapt interest. The stirring arousal. 

The voice maintained its smooth, pleasant tone as it began, first with his moniker, followed by his pedigree. There would be no mention of any past master, but his tale was a well-known source of amusement among the upper echelons of society. Behind dainty tea cups and tall wine glasses, chins had wagged, spreading the macabre taste further—for who did not enjoy tales of death, when they occurred elsewhere? 

Curious that this reputation barely made a dent, if any, on his market price. Twelve times sold, he only fetched a higher price with each bargain struck. As if they found it a cause for pride to tame him, this cursed angel of death.

“We will begin,” the male voice announced coolly, “with one million credits.”

The war on his name commenced. 

 

.

 

It was the voice that captured his attention.

Kijoon had not foreseen this. His attendance in this exhibition/auction was purely in the nature of business. It had not been his intention to participate, but it would seem that certain adjustments were now necessary.

An idea stirred. It was farfetched, would require much attention to details, not to mention such amount of patience and time he could barely squander on a doubtful gamble—but what an _idea_. Strange and wonderful in its novelty, and yet conceivably advantageous in the long run; could be, with a correct and careful handling.

He leaned into his comfortable seat as the battle raged on around him. Tension was mounting and the auctioneer responded with alacrity, spitting numbers like bullets. From a purely tactical perspective, it was a sound strategy. The key was to control the flow of the match. With each challenge and counter-challenge, the item would rise to greater value, greater import, _greater_ appeal.

Said item remained unperturbed, detached from all the pecuniary bouts waged in his name. Kijoon watched him in silence. He was a beautiful specimen, lovely to behold and even lovelier to hear. Naturally he would have those shortcomings shared by all slaves, but nothing that a thorough education could not correct. A plan formed in his mind, full of trains of smaller schemes and countless contingencies. 

But any further deliberation could wait. Now to acquire the subject. 

Kijoon waited until only two contenders were left in the field. So close to the finish line, the battle ceased to be about money; instead, pride reared its mulish head and roared. Neither would deign to back down now. 

He crooked a finger. Almost instantly, a waiting attendant materialised at his side.

“Is there anything you require, sir?” 

He named a sum. 

It was greeted first by shocked silence, but a trained staff knew better than to question a guest—especially one willing to throw such outrageous amount of money. She murmured acquiescence and then withdrew. 

A moment later, her voice rang above the auctioneer’s countdown.

“One billion credits.”

Astonished, some outraged, glances darted to his direction, but Kijoon only had eyes for one. The merchandise raised his head, just slightly, until their gazes met.

That was when Kijoon knew, this slave would be his and no one else’s.

“One billion credits,” the auctioneer’s voice repeated, almost reverently. “Is there any challenge?”

The silence which followed this question was absolute. 

The countdown went unchallenged. Kijoon rose as soon as the hammer struck. Nonchalantly, almost leisurely, he walked down to the stage, aware of the many pairs of eyes following his every step. The echoes of his footfalls spread in the reigning silence. No one spoke, not even the auctioneer to halt his progress, every shape of objection mutely born. 

In front of the glass cage, he stopped. Wide, curious eyes looked up at him. This slave did not fear him. Instead, flickers of challenge leapt up at his presence, unvoiced but never dormant. 

The Black Diamond indeed. Kijoon smiled. 

“Hello, pet.”

He was going to have so much fun with this one.

**_End  
_ **


End file.
